


gone to feed the roses elegant and curled

by forsyte



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Jughead Jones, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Jason Blossom Being an Asshole, M/M, Self-Hatred, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsyte/pseuds/forsyte
Summary: Jason Blossom laughed his way through life, carefree, perfect. Everything went his way, and the things that didn't just rolled off of him.(He worked very hard to project that image.)





	gone to feed the roses elegant and curled

**Author's Note:**

> The implied dubcon tagged above is performed by Jason, the PoV character. It's a passing mention, not described in detail, but if that's likely to unbalance your mental state I'd avoid this fic. The substance abuse is also mentioned but not described.  
> Further warning for a gratuitous reference to song lyrics from an artist the PoV character has no business knowing about.

Jason Blossom laughed his way through life, carefree, perfect. Everything went his way, and the things that didn't just rolled off of him.

 He worked very hard to project that image, and he laughed, bitterly, through alcohol and pills and the grim unending weight on his back that bore down on him. He laughed charmingly enough to have any girl he wanted (all of them, and none of them), and he laughed in the face of the one person who meant anything to him (besides his sweet sister. He was sorry to leave her behind, but she was more of a Blossom than he ever was).

Jughead Jones said exactly what he wanted to and met his eyes with unmasked anger. Jughead cried at old movies, always wore too many layers in summer, loved his best friend more than he wanted to. He was the son of a Serpent and resigned to that reputation, the exact opposite and the exact same as Jason. He sat in a booth at Pop’s and typed pages a day that he never kept, always deleted them in the end. When Jason stumbled into the diner, slumped down across from him slurring and incoherent, he closed his laptop and listened. Jason didn’t hesitate to tell him anything. After all, what was the harm in telling all to the loner? He kept to himself.

 Jughead was the one person who ever listened to him, interrupting his rambles with first sarcastic and snappish remarks and then, later, quieter, telling him he understood, telling him he wasn’t the only one who had those problems. The first person whose hands in Jason's hair felt like they meant something, and he slept sweet and calm on Jason's chest. His hair was so soft, Jason thought hazily, one evening, curled together on Jughead's tiny bedroll. He startled when Jughead stirred, ready to snatch his hand back like it had been burned, but Jughead wasn't awake, eyes closed and relaxed, just reactive, and when Jason hesitantly rested one hand on his head and lightly, so lightly, scratched, he pushed into his touch, so catlike Jason expected him to start purring.

His hair was soft and he slept sweet and calm and he flinched away when Jason first kissed him, hesitant and unsure, shrunk from every bite mark and crescent impression left in his back from passionate (desperate, if Jason was being honest to himself) hands in the heat of the moment, curled up empty and silent when Jason left smirking, as though he hadn't a care in the world. Jughead didn't want sex like he did, that much was obvious, Jason thought. He never said as much but it showed in his reluctance, how he lay still and silent and how he rolled to face the wall afterward.

 Jughead loved him, or at least wanted him for something other than his fame, and that was enough, to Jason. He curled himself over Jughead, weight pinning him, and rolled their hips together and let himself feel unabashed pleasure and if he enjoyed the times afterward more than he had in the past, if his heart swelled fierce and protective (he had only ever cared about Cheryl, they never had anyone but each other) for the coin-flip mirror of him, the tails to his heads curled up on his chest, no one needed to know, least of all Jughead himself.

 It left both of them hurting, that much was clear. And Jason felt himself feeling and panicked, emotion a useless and uncontrollable tide and so he let his anger show because it was closest to the surface, easiest to use, and oh, it was beautiful to see Jughead flinch from him (it was satisfying, fear was right, fear was what he deserved). He pinned him roughly, started seeing what buttons he could push, what would make him struggle against himself, trying not to push into Jason's touch. He spoke harsher, laughed crueler, and let his nails and teeth talk for him and if Jughead didn't sleep safe and calm on his chest anymore, that was the better for both of them. Who would trust Jason, anyway? No one confided in an idol. (This boy had trusted him, this broken and frightened and resigned boy who walked with insults following him like snakes, with the weight of the wrong side of the tracks on his soul. This boy trusted him, let his hands in his hair like something precious, and Jason took that and twisted it and let himself ruin something else, because he could never understand how someone like Jughead could look at him like that.)

 When Polly told him she was expecting he smiled, told her that was wonderful, ecstatic to run and run and settle down somewhere no one knew his name. He wouldn't ruin Polly, he would love her and they would raise their son or daughter and they could live life away from the Blossoms forever.

 (When she left he put his head in his hands and laughed til he cried, and then just cried, because he wasn't ready to take care of a child and he could all but see time running out for him. He needed to leave this place, but god, this was a hell of a way to do that. The car off the road near the old maple syrup sign, the farm upstate…)

He never told anyone, not even Jughead. He knew it was the last time he'd ever see Jughead, knew Jughead cared, and he didn't want to be missed. He scored lines across his chest, left bite marks in his neck, smiled in his face and left him hurting. When Jason sauntered out the door, not a care in the world, he could feel Jughead's glare on his back and wouldn't have it any other way. ( _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say, tongue thick with the regret of it, _I'm sorry you're the other side of me, you deserved more, I can't fix what I did but I can make sure you don't want me back._ Half-remembered music in his mind, _please forget me, you were right, dear, i am cold and self-involved--_ )

 He rowed across the river safe and dry, he walked into the woods, he woke up with a dry mouth and his hands tied behind his back and the serpent king hissing in his ear. It was so ironic he could barely keep giggles from escaping him. ( _Hey, FP Jones, I fucked your son 'cause he was lonely and now he won't look me in the eye and flinches when I touch him. You gonna defend his honor like you should? Just kill me, god, just kill me, my parents don't want me back and that's the greatest thing I could ever do._ )

When his father walked into the room, he was the same man Jason always knew, (the same anger he saw reflected when he stared into the mirror), eyes heavy with the weight on his back and mouth drawn tight with knowledge of the world, and the clock in Jason's mind stopped ticking, Finally, weight evaporated from his back. Here it was, at last, the consequences for his actions. He couldn't leave his past behind after all, he thought.

 Jason Blossom laughed in the face of death, finally happy. He was done, he was free, couldn't ruin anything anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—_  
>  _They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled_  
>  _Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve._  
>  _More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world._  
>  - ** _Dirge Without Music,_** Edna St. Vincent Millay


End file.
